


To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

by FlintMcC



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlintMcC/pseuds/FlintMcC
Summary: Buck has an amazing dream.
Relationships: Evan “Buck” Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

It was already daylight when I woke up, though the sunlight coming in the bedroom window was muted by the curtains. I propped myself up on one elbow to look at Buck, sound asleep next to me. He was lying on his back with his head turned a little to the side, a slight smile on his face. I had to smile, too. Seeing Buck smile always made me smile.

Sometimes I still had to shake my head in disbelief. Once I would never have imagined falling in love with another guy. Then Evan Buckley walked into my life, telling me I should respect my elders.

Whenever Buck stayed over, we never wore anything to bed. Clothes would have just gotten in the way, and they would have had to be taken off, anyway. We both kept a pair of sweats by the bed in case Christopher called for us during the night.

“God, you are beautiful,” I whispered as I gazed at the man lying beside me: The biceps that were just big enough to fill the sleeves of his tee shirts. The hard plains of his pecs, crowned with their nipples. The cut abs. The indentations where the hips met the torso, channels that drew the eyes downward to the groin. The sheet had slipped down to just below the top of Buck’s pubic hair. I could see the mound his manhood was making under the sheet.

I was tempted to lean over and lick one of those nipples. Buck likes it when I wake him up that way, but this morning I resisted the temptation. He needed his rest. Our last shift had been difficult for him.

It had started off easily enough, with a run-of-the-mill fire call. Some doofus was trying out a new barbecue grill, and he accidentally set fire to his garage. But then came the eight-car pile-up on the exit ramp from the I-5. It was caused by a driver who was high as a kite on who-knew-what. He came through it with just some scratches and a broken arm. Four other people lost their lives.

One of the four was a little girl, a passenger in a church van. She was beautiful, maybe five or six years old, with braided hair. She was holding a teddy bear. Buck took that one hard. A few minutes after Hen and Chim loaded the small body into the ambulance, I found him behind the fire truck sobbing uncontrollably. It took Hen and me both to calm him down.

As I watched now, Buck stirred, stretched, and yawned. He turned to me and smiled. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” I replied. I leaned over and caught Buck’s lips between my lips for a gentle good-morning kiss. “Sleep well?” I asked.

“I always do when I sleep with you,” Buck smiled at me. But then his brow furrowed. He looked a little puzzled. He said, “But you know what? Just before I woke up, I had the most amazing dream.”

“What was it about?” I asked.

“It was really strange. I was lying here with you, just like this, and you were sound asleep. I opened my eyes, and there was this little girl standing right next to me. It was the little girl from the pile-up on the I-5.” He paused a moment. Then he added, “The one who died. She was still holding her teddy bear.” He seemed astonished by that detail.

“What happened next?” I asked.

“She said ‘Hi,’ and I said ‘Hi.’ Then she said, ‘My name is Lily. What’s your name?’ So I said, ‘Buck.’ Then she said ‘Hi, Buck,’ and I said ‘Hi, Lily.’ Then she said to me that I looked sad, but I shouldn’t be sad, so I asked her why I shouldn’t be sad. Then she said, ‘Because I’m okay.’

“So I asked her why she was okay.” Buck went silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice sounded a little shaky. He said, “The next thing she said to me was that her daddy got killed in the war.”

I tensed up at that: Afghanistan. I had seen far too many daddies of little girls die in Afghanistan. I had tried to save them, but I couldn’t.

Buck went on, “Then she said that her mommy got really sick, and she … and she. …”

I could hear Buck was starting to choke up. I could see the tears start to trickle down his cheeks. I put my arms around him and pulled him close.

“She said her mommy got really sick,” he repeated, “and then she went to be with Jesus.” Buck’s shoulders began to shake. He began to sob. He put his head on my shoulder. I held him tighter. Through his tears, he said, “Then she said to me that I shouldn’t be sad because now she was with her mommy and daddy.” Buck couldn’t speak anymore. He just sobbed against my shoulder.

“Sh-sh-sh,” I said quietly. “It’s okay, Buck, it’s okay.” Gently I rocked him back and forth and stroked his hair, just as I would Christopher, until the sobbing gradually stopped, and he looked up at me a little sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he said.

“About what?”

“I guess I was being a little goofy about that dream.”

“You were not being goofy,” I said, “and you’ve got nothing to be sorry about. That was a beautiful dream.”

“Do you think it was real?” he asked me.

“How do you mean, ‘real’?”

“Do you think I really saw her? Did she really come to me?”

I considered my answer. Slowly, I said, “I think sometimes our dreams are very real. I think sometimes they tell us things we need to know.”

“So you think I need to know that Lily is okay?”

“Yes, I do.”

“So, you think she’s okay?”

“I think she’s with her mommy and daddy, just like she said, and, yes, I think she’s very much okay.”

“I think so, too.” Buck smiled. I kissed him.

It never ceases to amaze me how Evan Buckley can care so much about others, people he doesn’t even know, even after all the horrors he’s been through in his own life. His capacity for empathy is one of the best things about him. It’s one reason why I love him so much.


End file.
